Chapter 14 – Vincenzo
“My orders are clear, I’m not to engage.” Liam stared at his tumbler of clear liquid. “It’s fecking grand.”
“But you know where they are.”
“Of course I do.” Liam lifted his gaze. Those light blue eyes were stormy and grey. “I know where they sleep. Where they work. Hell, I even know which bleeding hookers they pick up on the Common Drive.”
I folded my hands over my chest. “It sounds like you need an exterminator.”
And that was why Don Morelli sent me. I was here to offer help, to start the process of forming an alliance that would bind our organizations.
It would be more beneficial to us, since we were a smaller outfit, but we wouldn’t be seen as a leech.
We would pull our weight, and the Irish would be grateful for the help.
So far, I’d played the part of negotiator well. Liam was interested.
“Yea, but Da won’t go for it.” Liam’s jaw tightened. “Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to obey the orders of old heads?”
That might be a casual question, a mere point of discussion between friends. But I knew the green devil sitting across the booth from me. His favorite pastime was deep sea fishing, but Liam McDonagh was known to cast a line in the canal in his spare time just to see what genetic mutations bit.
I didn’t trust him, which was nothing personal. I didn’t trust anyone. Not even my brother. Especially when it came to divulging my innermost musings on how things were run.
Don Morelli might have welcomed me back to the fold, but I wasn’t risking a careless observation in a seemingly casual conversation that might make its way back to the don’s ear.
He needed to see me the way I wanted to be seen.
I came back from prison two years ago as a loyal soldier, obeying every order and not questioning my place.
It served me well, a cover story while I worked on my own plots and schemes.
What Liam really wanted to know was if I was as frustrated with my leash as he was with his.
I wasn’t. The chain of command was a formality, one that I was interested in keeping in place.
Would it be easy to invoke a coup and reign as king of the Morelli Famiglia?
Absolutely. But why? It was a small organization, running limited operations.
I already had a thriving empire, more power, and a hell of a lot more wealth than most organizations in Boston.
I let Don Morelli run things his way, acting as the son of a capo should, because it served the bigger picture.
And I dreamed….
Dreamed of the day I wouldn’t be a criminal, but just a businessman who didn’t run the risk of going back to prison. Granted, I would never stop working with criminals. They made excellent business partners. But as long as the paperwork was clean, I had nothing to fear.
My answer was careful. There was no reason for me to shoot the breeze with this prince of the underworld and risk upsetting the delicate balance I maintained. “If your father doesn’t want to start a war, he likely has good reason.”
“The bleeding war’s already started, V.” Liam sat straight, wrenched the tumbler off the table, and downed the contents. “We’re in real danger if we don’t act. Will Morelli stand by us? Or is he going to sit this one out?”
Of course, he would intervene. That was why I was sitting on this hard fucking booth, drinking whiskey. But I wasn’t going to show my cards. Not yet.
I grunted. “Depends.”
The empty glass cracked against the polished wood.
Ah, there it was. The famous Irish temper.
The man in front of me could wear the best suits money could buy. He might have the best seats at the Celtics’ home games. But he wasn’t fooling me.
He craved blood.
I smiled. “What’s it worth to you?”
Liam flicked his glass, sending it spinning in a violent circle, only to catch it before it launched off the table. “The McDonagh clan has lived in this land for nearly three hundred fecking years.”
I stifled a groan. Here came the story.
The fucking prideful prick.
“Didn’t you know, we fought the British with Washington,” Liam continued, glaring at his empty glass. His accent thickened as he waxed on about the glory of his family. “This is our town. Ours. And yet my father lets the Black Stags piss on our turf.”
The other Irish faction would lose. The don’s plan, which was actually brilliant, was to take care of the problem. Permanently. And then the McDonagh Mob would owe us. Whatever the favor Don Morelli planned to extract in payment was, I wasn’t sure.
But it would be worth it.
Our don was crafty, sly—an unstoppable force.
“I’ll speak to the don,” I placated and rose. Swiping my leather jacket from the bench, I shrugged it over my shoulders. “But I have somewhere to be.”
Lost in the trap of the past, Liam gave me a small nod as he continued to glare into the void.
I stalked across the empty eatery, each step heavy with determination.
I gripped the brass knob and ripped the door open.
My patience was worn thin. The nostalgic fucker.
Didn’t he know he had it in his power to use the present to shape the future?
The past was nothing but misery and despair.
It taunted mankind with the decisions we didn’t make and the choices we should have taken.
Stepping into the night, I shook off the gloom from the pub. The cool night air was stained with the sins of the city. Industry and progress were a ripe perfume. Steam rose from the grates, and the puddles were poisoned with oil.
None of that could kill the excitement coursing through my veins. In a few days, I would have the crown jewel safely in my possession. No empire was complete without something stunning at its center. Other achievements paled in comparison to this, but they’d been necessary to claim the gem.
My vengeance would be sated.
I drew in a deep breath, closed my eyes, and pictured it—Amanda’s father’s perfect little world broken.
His accomplishments crushed.
That backstabbing determination extinguished.
Did Archibald Loring deserve a fate worse than that? Undoubtedly. But it would be a sweet recompense to know his daughter was chained to my side for eternity.
Amanda was destined to be mine.
And when he’d tried to destroy me, Loring ruined the picture of a future we’d painted. Now I glued the shattered pieces together, and the twisted image was how our future would look. Still together, still inseparable, we were intertwined by fate.
We might not ever be the happy couple living in a fancy condo with three cats, two dogs, and a baby on the way. Even if I became a legitimate businessman someday, right now, in the present, my soul was damned and bound to the underworld.
I couldn’t wait any longer.
It was time I brought my queen home. If we built a future that somehow resembled our dreams, it would be a miracle. No matter how it looked, we had the chance to forge something out of the wreckage.
I straddled my bike, flexing my fingers over the sleek, matte black lines. A sixth sense stopped me from kicking the engine over. There was no one out here. Several vehicles crossed the intersection around the bend farther down the road.
There. In the alley. Footsteps tripping over the concrete.
Safe in the shadows, I lingered. In a metropolis, fed by corruption and violence, it wasn’t unusual for individuals to run amok at all hours of the day and night.
When three individuals emerged and darted across the street to The Galway Arms, I slid my gun from my shoulder holster at the same time I reached for my phone.
Me: Incoming. Three at the front.
Green Devil: I’ll check the back.
My gaze lifted from the phone just in time to see one of the demons break a window. I lurched forward, but the explosion bloomed in an aggressive display of oranges and reds. There was nothing I could do to stop the destruction.
A fiery bomb—the classic calling card between mobsters.
The three figures dashed away.
The organ in my chest thumped once. Twice. And then I lifted my gun, aimed, and fired.
Two of the fuckers dropped. The third dove into the alley, disappearing to safety.
Revving the engine to life, I shot forward. The tires tore across the ground, gathering speed. I braced myself, hopped the curb, and flew the bike into the fire-drenched pub. Smoke belched out to greet me.
Kicking the stand, I shot to my feet and shoved the tables and chairs out of my way.
Flames licked the walls, eager to consume their prey.
The heat was intense. Angry and violent.
I hunched in my jacket to protect as much skin as possible.
Seconds passed, and the air grew toxic with burning chemicals.
I didn’t have my bandana, not that it would do much good. So I held my breath, gaze searching.
He said he was going to the back.
“Liam!” I bellowed, using precious oxygen.
If he was dead, and I burnt because of him, I was going to beat his ass in hell.
Something twitched in front of the door to the kitchen.
Past that swinging door, a second fire raged. This one was more vicious than the one plaguing the front of the pub. The fuckers had bombed the back. We had to leave before the gas line caught, and this whole block blew to smithereens.
I stooped and threw his limp arm around my shoulder. “I don’t want to ever hear the story about how your great-grand pappy saved Paul Revere again. Got it?”
Liam’s eyes fluttered.
Merda. The jolly wee giant was crispy. Half his suit was signed, and blood leaked from blackened flesh along his arm and neck, while that pretty face was half mottled with char. The right side of his body was a mess.
Coughing hard, I hefted him over my shoulder and returned to my bike. He weighed a fuck ton, so I had to drape him over my lap. Tapping the stand with my heel, I shot the back tire around and sped from the carnage.
Back on the street, I gulped down grateful breaths of air.
Only to freeze in the middle of the road as blue and red lights danced in the dark.
Dread turned my stomach to stone. Ice flooded my veins, and a violent shiver rattled down my spine. Air filled my lungs in a short burst as the instinct to fight flipped to the desire to flee.
There were precious few things that gave me pause in life. But the uniform checking the pulse of the two lifeless bodies was one of them. I debated dumping the Irishman on the pavement and speeding away. I saved his life; that was good enough.
But if the cops detained him….
“Hey! Is that Paddy’s boy?” The cop straightened and pointed a flashlight at me.
Cazzo, he likely had a camera on his vest that would snag my face. Once it ran through the system, there was no hiding from a warrant.
“He alive?” the cop shouted.
“He is.” I tensed as he rushed over.
“Feckin’ hell, this was the Black Stag Clan, wasn’t it?” the cop spat, stopping beside me and reaching out to lay two fingers on Liam’s throat. “I told Padraig they were stirring. I was supposed to meet Liam to show him some intel, and now this!”
I studied the cleanshaven face. A dirty cop. What were the odds?
Still, I didn’t relax until I scanned the cop’s uniform. There was no vest. No camera. His car was pointed away from the burning pub, which was another stroke of fortune in my favor.
“I’ve got to call this in.” The cop looked me over. “Ya hurt?”
“No.”
“Then ya’d best git out of here. We’ll handle it.”
Together, we lowered Liam to the ground. He groaned but otherwise showed no signs of life. From the interior of the cab, words crackled over the radio.
“Cac! The firetruck’s on its way.” The cop made a shooing sign with his hands. “Go, go!”
I didn’t need to hear it twice. The roar of the bike’s engine was a prayer, sent high to the heavens. No cuffs bound my wrists. No bars blocked my movements. I was still free.
***
“You stink.” Don Gaspare Morelli tied his robe over his lean belly before reaching for the fridge door. “Beer? Coffee? Wine?”
“I’m good.” I shifted. My socks were damp, which made the tile floor feel colder. “Grazie, signore.”
“Niente.” Don Morelli cracked a cap off a bottle, took a long gulp, and winced. “My wife’s been buying this low carb crap. What’s the point of having beer if you don’t have the good stuff?”
My lip twitched ever so slightly. That man would drink his own piss if his wife told him it was good for him.
“Well? Let’s have it.” The don came back to the L of the counter and faced me.
I explained as briefly as possible my evening.
The sober brown gaze flicked over me. “Have you been by Joey’s place yet?”
I frowned. “No, why?”
The don took a sip of his beer. “You rushed into a burning building after a firebomb, ragazzo.”
“I’m fine.”
The don hummed. “I want Doc to look at you. Smoke inhalation is a rotten business, and I can’t lose my best soldier over something stupid.”
And that right there was why I would never take this man’s crown. I might be the son of a capo and therefore have a higher position than other Made Men, but even if I was one of the grunts, the don would have said the same thing. He cared about each and every last one of his soldiers.
“I’ll stop over. Anything else?” I shifted my weight again.
The don’s eyes narrowed. “You’re up to something.”
Cavolo, he was good. “It’s a private matter.”
A salt and pepper brow arched.
It was clear I wasn’t getting off that easily.
“You woke me up, and now you’re running off again. Where?” he demanded.
I pursed my lips. It wasn’t as if the secret would stay silent for long. Eventually, he would know—everyone would know.
“I have a bride to collect.” I braced myself for his reaction.
Don Morelli let out a low whistle, tipped his beer back, and drained it. “It’s not one of Deluca’s girls, is it?”
Porca miseria, the horror. “Hell no.”
“Good,” the don snorted. “I’m going to have to find husbands for those girls one of these days, and that’s not going to be an easy matter.”
There were a handful of girls, who were almost of marriageable age.
And there were a handful of younger sisters growing up, waiting their turn.
I almost felt bad for them. Almost. But Cristiano and I both escaped the fate of being tied to one of the daughters of the other Morelli capo.
Yet another reason I liked the don. He hadn’t forced my father to bind his sons and keep the blood thick between the capos.
“Stop by Joey’s. I want him to have a look at you,” the don ordered, pointing his bottle at me. “And then, once it’s settled, bring your bride over some Sunday for dinner, so I can greet her properly.”
“I will.” I went back to the sliding glass patio door and slid into my boots. “Buona notte, signore.”
“Buona fortuna, ragazzo.”